


It is A Nightmare On Friday the 13th, Halloween, during a Chain-Saw Massacre

by musicmillennia



Series: Musket Books [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, I Will Not Even Lie, M/M, Movie Night, garbage, this is garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New flat, new television. All slashers invited.</p>
<p>(Not that kind.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It is A Nightmare On Friday the 13th, Halloween, during a Chain-Saw Massacre

**Author's Note:**

> Please accept this trash, written way too late at night
> 
> Thank

The four of them may have something bordering on telepathic, but Athos and D'Artagnan are literally mind twins. Probably because D'Artagnan is a carbon copy of Athos from his university days; in any case, Aramis calls them soulmates, and Porthos is inclined to agree.

The two of them are walking arm-in-arm (again) on the way to the bookshop for another Friday afternoon full of instructing D'Artagnan on the art of why reading is important. Aramis is still at work, so it's just Porthos there to greet them.

"Right on time," he says, gesturing to the freshly arrived box of new deliveries. Athos' eyes light up; D'Artagnan laughs for him. "Go nuts. Saved 'em just for you."

Athos immediately snatches the box and scurries upstairs to his armchair in the History section. D'Artagnan grins after him until he's out of sight; only when he's disconnected from his other half does he look at Porthos. It's adorable.

"I'm still behind the counter," Porthos warns him.

D'Artagnan raises an eyebrow, very Athos-esque. "Then get out from behind the counter."

Even before they got together, Porthos knew better than to refuse D'Artagnan. Shrugging a shoulder, he walks around the counter, lifting up the divide so D'Artagnan has access to his belt loops—his favorite point of attack since he figured out he can't swoop in from above like he could in past relationships. Porthos follows his tugging fingers, laughing a "hello" into the kiss. D'Artagnan hums a return greeting, sinking against him as soon as his hands wind into his hair. Something Aramis and D'Artagnan have in common: they love having their hair played with.

Then—"I think Athos wants me to help."

Porthos steals more kisses. "Sure?"

"'Bout—ninety—percent—sure."

"Mmmmhm."

There's nothing blocking the view from the street; anyone walking by could look in and see the two of them kissing the daylights outta each other. Normally, Porthos would adhere to some sense of common decency. But normally he's just not this happy.

"Porthos—I really—think—"

_You have a new text message, high-five!_

They have to brace themselves on the counter from laughing so hard. An Unexpected Borat will do that to a person.

"Aramis musta changed it on me," Porthos chuckles.

D'Artagnan snorts. "Again? How many times is that?"

"I've lost count."

 

**Athos (12:25)**

Let him go, Porthos.

 

"That's Athos, isn't it?"

See? Mind twins.

Porthos gives D'Artagnan one last kiss—on the nose, so he'll laugh—and pushes him to the stairs.

 

( **Athos (12:22)**

Omg i cn FEEL thm kissing hlp

 

**Constance (12:23)**

Darling just ask for him to come up and he'll come up)

 

* * *

 

 

Aramis arrives a few hours later, though he doesn't come into the shop beyond opening the door. Now that Porthos and D'Artagnan have their own apartment, Friday nights are spent there. Ninon kindly babysits the snakes; Raoul and Galileo have playdates while Bazin sulks in a corner and Grimaud silently curls under the lamp.

Athos and D'Artagnan hook arms without breaking stride. Aramis takes a picture from behind them.

"You know what we haven't done yet?" he pipes up after its uploaded onto Instagram, "A movie night are your place!"

Porthos is immediately on board. Movie nights are always fun when you've got friends like Athos and Aramis; since D'Artagnan joined their little circle, the commentary's gotten twice as good. "Need to pick a theme."

Athos hums. While Porthos and Aramis take this as "alright let me think about it", D'Artagnan's free hand slaps his arm.

"Don't, Athos," he says, "they can handle it."

The other two glance at each other. "Handle what?" they ask.

D'Artagnan looks back at them, trusting Athos to lead him on. (Porthos loves that trust.) "Athos wants to watch horror movies."

Aramis' eyebrows shoot for his hairline. "Do you like horror movies?"

Athos studiously doesn't look at him, as if he's ashamed of his answer. Porthos grins, says, "We've known you since primary. How is it that D'Artagnan knows this before us?"

D'Artagnan shrugs, "I like horror movies too. He caught me organizing my collection when he helped me pack up my old place. We watched a couple together."

"Which ones?" asks Aramis.

To which D'Artagnan smirks, "We'll show you."

 

* * *

 

 

According to Athos and D'Artagnan, there's not a lot of good horror movies out there, so it's best to just resort to serial killer flicks. A few of them have some actual plot, like  _Silence of the Lambs_ and  _Saw_. D'Artagnan's got a thing for  _Screa_ _m_ , apparently, and oddly enough, Athos picks  _Friday the 13th_ over Hannibal Lecter.

"This is not a night for intense plot," is all he says.

By five o'clock, they're all settled in front of the television. Athos is squished between D'Artagnan and Aramis, Porthos next to D'Artagnan. Porthos used to be in the middle, but four doesn't have a middle, unless one of them drapes over everyone's laps. Most likely that will be Aramis—he likes to let others know he's in the room that way.

None of them have work the next day, so their queue is one meant to last the entire night:  _Friday the 13th, Friday the 13th: Part II, Scream, A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Halloween,_ and, since Athos looked at D'Artagnan a certain way,  _Dolls_ and  _Dead Silence_ are shoved right before  _Chainsaw Massacre_.

"But we can take requests," D'Artagnan says as he stacks the DVDs next to the television, "Between us, we've got loads to choose from."

"What about  _Paranormal Activity_?" suggests Aramis.

...Athos and D'Artagnan just... _stare_ at him. Porthos mutters something about popcorn, but the half walls separating the kitchen from the front room do little to dampen the effect.

"We," Athos enunciates slowly, "are not watching handheld garbage."

"We," D'Artagnan says just as deliberately, "are watching slashers."

Aramis swallows. "Of course," he replies. Porthos notices his voice is pitched a little too high and doesn't blame him one bit.

 

* * *

 

Porthos has been to war; he, Athos, and Aramis have all done a tour together. He's seen his fair share of violence, of fear and anguish.

Doesn't mean he likes slasher films.

You see, for all his bulk and intimidation, Porthos is one of those people that horror movies make their bitch. Every jumpscare, every slash of a knife, every creepy note of music, he's left wide-eyed and trembling like a child in the dark. Athos knows this; it's probably why he never disclosed his secret crush on Jason Vorhees.

As the campers sing around the fire, D'Artagnan looks around. Porthos takes the excuse to look away from the screen—hey, he's never actually seen the movie, he doesn't know when something's gonna pop up!—but Athos beats him to it.

"Aramis," he says, like he knows D'Artagnan's unspoken question and its obvious answer. (Mind. Twins.)

Aramis picks up his head from Athos' shoulder. "What?"

Athos' mouth quirks. "The first to die in a horror movie."

Porthos takes a handful of popcorn from their gargantuan shared bowl. "Thought that'd be me. Don' the not white people go first?"

D'Artagnan shakes his head, "Not necessarily. And definitely not you; you're too good." Porthos kisses his temple in gratitude. "Aramis would die first because he does everything the killers hate: he'd be the first one to take off his pants, the first to flirt, the first to take a drink."

Aramis shrugs, grunting his agreement.

On the television, the two counselors are just getting into the barn. So far so good; Porthos stuffs his mouth with popcorn just in case.

"Who would die next, then?" asks Aramis.

"Probably me," D'Artagnan replies. At the other three's looks, "Oh come on. Even I can admit I pick a fight with almost everyone. I'd be the character that tries to act all tough right up to the moment the killer sticks their machete in my stomach."

While Porthos tries to dispel  _that_ disturbing image, Aramis reaches across Athos and pats their youngest on the shoulder. "It takes a real man to admit he's an idiotic asshole."

D'Artagnan throws popcorn at him. Unfortunately, Aramis manages to catch it in his mouth, so he only gets a wink for his efforts.

_"We weren't doing anything_ ," says the male counselor,  _"we were just—"_

_There_ it is. Porthos sucks in a quiet breath through his nose as the music suddenly spikes and the female counselor starts to scream. Quickly, he glances to the right, and thankfully the others have once again focused on the movie. With any luck, they'll stay that way.

 

* * *

 

 

As Athos switches to the second part, Aramis harps on Jason's absence while D'Artagnan argues that it's a great twist to the movies, how much of a shame it is that no one remembers Mrs. Vorhees as the original killer. Real _Psycho_ , if you ask him.

Porthos, though, has carefully hidden himself behind the hanging cabinets in the kitchen. As far as they know, he's rummaging around for D'Artagnan's Reeses. And he will.

Right after he finishes calming his heart rate.

He'd say something, yet Athos is having such a good time; he's never looked so relaxed outside the bookshop or Aramis' arms. Porthos doesn't know what that says about his best friend, but he does know that he wants to keep that little smile on his best friend's face.

"I'm gonna make some tea," he calls over his shoulder, "anyone wanna cup?"

Aramis and D'Artagnan pause in their debate to give resounding "yes"s; Athos salutes him with his glass of wine as a refusal.

Alright. He'll make a nice steaming cup of chamomile. They're just movies, after all.

...fuck.

 

* * *

 

 

" _Introducing_ Johnny Depp!" Aramis crows, inducing D'Artagnan's laughter and even Athos' quiet chuckle.

Porthos, however, is still recovering from Jason's first appearance and Ghostface. He doesn't know how he's made it this far without openly jumping out of his skin; he's thinking about having a fourth cup of chamomile as a reward.

Freddy Kreuger doesn't pull any punches either. He almost gets Porthos to fess up about his fears three separate times, including Johnny Depp's geyser scene. D'Artagnan doesn't seem to notice he's being used as a pseudo-teddy bear, engrossed as he is in the gushing blood and exchanging quiet commentary with Athos.

In the end, though, Porthos is left quietly panting and glad for the dark surrounding them all.

Athos pushes himself off the couch to switch the DVDs again, but Aramis interrupts: "I saw  _Dead Silence_ in theaters. Don't remember much, but that creepy poem kept me up afterwards."

Athos peers through his hair, selecting  _Dead Silence_ instead of  _Dolls_ without looking. "Do you remember how it goes?"

Aramis smirks over his mug. "'Beware the stare of Mary Shaw' is all I can recall, I'm afraid. Could you recite the rest for me,  _querido_?"

D'Artagnan leans away from him, sensing the impending innuendos. Because when Aramis is involved, even creepy poems can be euphemisms.

Athos stands, pressing  _Close_ on the player. "What makes you think I remember it?"

"Call it a feeling."

"...'Beware the stare of Mary Shaw,'" Athos recites slowly, walking around the couch, "'she had no children, only dolls.'" he settles his hands on Aramis' shoulders—Aramis, who looks pleasantly surprised—"'and if you see her in your dreams,'" he presses his lips to Aramis' throat, "'be sure you never—" kiss, "ever—" kiss, "—scream.'"

" _Mi amor_ ," Aramis purrs, and  _could they not?_

"Athos, how much've you had?" Porthos teases as D'Artagnan hides under his chin.

"And could I have some?" Aramis adds.

Athos straightens, resumes his seat on the couch. "Only the two glasses," he says, "I'm afraid Anne has ruined me in more ways than one. When we were married, she'd put on horror movies during sex."

D'Artagnan sits up so fast he almost knocks Porthos' teeth. "Are you serious?"

Porthos looks across at Aramis; he sees the wheels turning, and decides he'd rather not know.

 

* * *

 

Funny enough, it's Mary Shaw, not Jason or Freddy or Michael, who gets him.

Porthos doesn't mind dolls; his aunt has a whole collection of old-fashioned ones in her home, even a couple like the ones in  _Dead Silence_. But when those cute little faces are used in such diabolical ways, it changes your view a bit.

Somehow he makes it through the first scares. Then the crazy bitch decided to have herself turned into a doll.

Porthos takes one look at that altered face and shoots up from the couch with a cracking "Fuck this!"

To his surprise, D'Artagnan catches his hand and tugs. "But this is the part where I can finally say that  _I_ am protecting  _you_!"

"Or," Athos firmly interjects, "we can turn on something else entirely."

This is what he'd been dreading. Guilt floods Porthos as he watches Athos' face start to close off.

"No," he says, "I don't wanna ruin—"

"You're not ruining anything, Porthos," Aramis assures him, "I'm sure D'Artagnan would love to be the one to hold you, instead of the other way around."

For a moment, Porthos is frozen. Throughout all his past relationships,  _he's_ been the one who comforts them, who picks them up—sometimes one-handed—who cares for them, who...well. Anyway, it's expected of him. It's always been expected of him. Aside from Athos and Aramis, no one's ever looked at him as the one who might need those expectations reversed.

To have someone doing that for him now? He might need a second.

In that second, he goes limp enough from shock that D'Artagnan can successfully pull him back onto the couch and tuck him under his chin. "Much better."

Athos and Aramis share a look as the former presses play.

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, everything goes smoother after that. Porthos doesn't even have to look at the screen if he doesn't want to; D'Artagnan's more than happy to tell Athos and Aramis to shove over to the loveseat so Porthos can settle on D'Artagnan's chest.

Turns out it's a good thing he broke during  _Dead Silence_. Because  _Dolls_ is so much worse.

While the dolls' animations are pretty good for the movie's time, Porthos would rather not watch them come to life and stab people. He thinks he hears Athos  _sigh_ while they shove that girl against the wall, like he's trying to encourage them. Meanwhile, he's jolting in D'Artagnan's arms and choking on air.

He needs new friends.

D'Artagnan tightens his hold again. "It's alright babe. I've got you."

He'll settle for this boyfriend, though.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Brief story time: that Borat text tone used to be my brother's. One Christmas Eve he was texting his girlfriend and he left that on; it happened to many times I finally just held up my hand and we high-fived.
> 
> Fun fact: Dolls (1987) is one of the few horror movies that actually creep me out. Not a lot, but enough that I remembered it for this fic.  
> Another fun fact: Dead Silence is just fun to watch in terms of the Killer Dolls trope, and even inspired a Constanne fic that I haven't posted.
> 
> I hope that, even though this is a rarepair, you guys are all sharing in their happiness. May you find joy as they did—obviously it doesn't have to be found in a relationship with someone, but you get the picture. I dunno it's very late and I'm too emotional right now
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
